Slow Me Down
by theatrics
Summary: HAIRSPRAY 2007. She was one, big, ugly inner battle of sin, spite, misunderstanding, hatred, and imperfection. Shelleycentric. AmberShelley.


**Kelsey Rose**: This was written for Tracy, aka writergirl2003. -hearts- :D

* * *

_rushing and racing and running in circles,  
moving so fast i'm forgetting my purpose  
blur of the traffic is sending me spinning,  
getting nowhere_

If there was one thing that Shelley knew that she wasn't, it was _spineless_, and she had convinced herself, since birth, that anyone who was, did not, by any stretch of imagination, deserve her time or consideration. They infuriated her to a ridiculous point. However, up until recently, she had not the faintest idea what the correct definition of the word she hated so much was. She was ignorant in her arrogance, but she didn't seem to care much. The day that anyone saw someone of her stature dazed and confused in the public eye was the day that she may as well have just killed her entire persona. There was no bloodier social suicide than that.

She wasn't like _her_, after all.

In Shelley's delusional reality, she had everything done to perfection. That did not, however, constitute that she herself was perfect. Oh, _no_. That was unfortunately far from the truth. The case and point was that she was a very intelligent young woman who took those previously said gifts to grave extremities.

When she wasn't spitting poison at random, ingenuous girls and boys, then she was morphing the truth into heinous lies and slander of how something occurred in her own little world. She was caught up in a tangled and deadly web of a repulsive and deformed world, one that she wondered if she would ever shed from her character. It was what she was known for, what she was practically feared for—and she wasn't sure if she would ever want to let that go, regardless of how many supposedly cliché, albeit wonderful things she was inevitably missing out on.

She was one, big, ugly inner battle of sin, spite, misunderstanding, hatred, and imperfection.

_my head and my heart are colliding, chaotic  
pace of the world, i just wish i could stop it  
try to appear like i've got it together…  
i'm falling apart_

_Perfection_. It was an ugly, ugly word. She had hated it the moment that it had first slipped out of her mother's damnable, bright red, lipstick-smeared mouth. Only, it was fixed with the equally disgusting, though far more fitting, _im-_ prefix. That's exactly what Shelley was to her: _imperfect_.

Her clothes were too slutty. Her clothes were too conservative. Her hair was too straight. Her hair was too styled. Her make-up was too much. Her make-up was too little. Her nose was too big. Her nose was too small. Her legs were too muscular. Her legs were too shapeless. Her eyes were too perky. Her eyes were too droopy. Her expression was too responsive. Her expression was too smug.

Or, her personal favorite: _'You're far too _fat_, Shelley. You're a dancer. Slim up, like you're supposed to be.'_

And, so, she obliged, like the lowdown, belly-to-the-floor, doting, pathetic lapdog that she was to her overtly Catholic, even more-so eccentric mother. It was more than just a little pathetic that she had listened to her, much less carried out any plans to try to better the notion.

It was a sick and compulsive habit, but she couldn't help it; she had lost herself in it. She made damn sure that no one, save herself, knew of it. That made her spineless. It helped knock her down the rungs of the society ladder, the one that her filthy, perfectly manicured fingernails had clawed up endlessly until they had reached their desired destination: _the top_. However, something inside of Shelley had always told her that her secret wasn't just laying heavy on her own mind.

Her questionable, and oftentimes violent, affiliation with Amber von Tussle loomed over her head as a constant reminder that there was possibly someone else in the world that knew more about her than even herself, and that scared her just as much as that pissed her off.

She wasn't sure that was what she wanted. She didn't want to be powerless in the face of anyone, though more particularly Amber. They had been arguing, bitching, moaning, and complaining to one another since what Shelley was certain was the beginning of time. Their relationship could only be described as: inconsistent, problematic, and fierce; and Shelley would not have had it any other way. If it weren't that way, in that exact order, she was almost positive that she wouldn't be able to function as well, or as decently, as she was today.

Their sadistic inconsistency gave her some perverse form of hope.

They could scream at each other, call each other names that would make any convict blush, scratch stinging wounds into one another's near flawless skin, and swear on their lives that they would never have anything to do with the other again, but Shelley would always come back—_always_.

As dysfunctional and fucked up as she was, that was the one thing that never seemed to change; or, rather, had not yet, anyway.

_save me,  
somebody take my hand and lead me  
slow me down  
don't let love pass me by  
just show me how  
'cause i'm ready to fall_

Shelley was a lofty tower of problems sugarcoated with empty promises and ugly sneers. As much as she harped about knowing exactly what she wanted, deep down, she was at a complete loss. She couldn't even begin to tell anyone something of that depth and importance. Then again, asking a girl who hopped from boy to boy, even while knowing that she had no genuine interest in them, was absolutely senseless in itself

Even now, she could remember, as a child, being read those frivolous fairytales by her older-than-dirt and wrinkly nanny. They were explicitly idiotic, and she had been known for complaining of the irritating, male-dominating plots. Some 'handsome prince' would always sweep the damsel-in-distress princess off her feet, or something stupid like that. Something about that had always annoyed her. She had decided, at a very young age, that if that was what love was like, she was better off worrying over her appearance and what dress to wear to school.

But, that had changed rather abruptly on one particular day, and without Shelley's voiced consent.

It was different when boys she was absentmindedly sleeping with would murmur those three taboo words in her ear during a moment of heated passion, because _that_ was just their dirty little hormones talking. It even unfazed her when Link had failed to say those words at all; in fact, she dreaded the day that he would, even if it had never come.

Nevertheless, the moment that Amber von Tussle had grabbed her face, her fingernails digging into the skin of her cheeks, and her eyes wide with anger, frustration, hurt, and incredulity, Shelley's world, as she had known it, came to a tumbling halt.

"_I can't fucking stand you, Shelley… _my god_, why the hell do I love you so fucking much?"_

Suddenly, the tables had turned. Amber held the reigns, and Shelley was left, dumbfounded. It had only taken two very simple sentences to steal any coherent thoughts from her. She had denied herself the truth for so long, but she didn't want to stop deluding herself. She didn't want things to be like this.

That was what she wanted herself to think. She wasn't about to give in to someone like _her_.

Just because Amber went out of her way, despite it all, to make her feel immensely beautiful, blithe, and all-around _perfect_, she didn't _want_ to consciously give away the life style that she knew and was supposed to love. She wasn't the damsel type. She wasn't into the fairytale scene. She wasn't some princess, high up in her tower, helpless and astray. And, she _was not _a insubstantial, spineless _flower_ of a girl.

But, God, the way that her heart swelled every time she was with Amber, in the heat of hostility or passion, stayed cemented in her brain.

She just loved her too fucking much to cower away along with her better judgment.

If she could feel _perfect _for those few, precious moments with her, then she wasn't sure that she ever wanted to let that go. Just for a few moments of her life, Shelley could pretend that she had intentionally chosen this herself, that she had, for once, made a grand decision in her life, but she could only toy with false acclaim for so long.

_slow me down;  
don't let me live a lie  
before my life flies by  
i need you to slow me down_


End file.
